Shallow River

I hate how little consideration I give my answer. “Fine.”

I turn and walk away.

“When?” he calls.

Pivoting, I walk a few steps backwards and say, “You’re good at stalking me. I’m sur

e you can work out a time and date.” His smile is slow and lazy, sending all kinds of feelings straight to my core before I give him my back once more.

THE FITZGERALD FAME AND fortune could not have affected my life at the worst possible time.

The clerk behind the cash register eyes my purchases and then eyes me. She’s an older, shrewd woman with salt and pepper hair, extra sag with her wrinkles and a curious gleam in her eye. She’s definitely the nosy neighbor type, constantly peeking out her window to spy on people. Good thing she isn’t my neighbor. I’d just open my curtains, pull down my panties, spread my legs wide and give her a show she’d never forget. And I bet she’d never, ever look through my windows again.

“Aren’t you dating Ryan Fitzgerald?” she asks, picking up each box and scanning it. Five of them total.

It’s in my nature to be rude and tell the bat to mind her business. But that little voice in that back of my head—the one I haven’t kicked to the curb yet—still demands I protect Ryan’s reputation. Not for his benefit, but for mine. If I’m going to get out of this situation alive, then it’d be stupid to poke the bear before I’ve set the trap.

“Yep,” I say with forced cheer. Hopefully she doesn’t see how fake my smile is. Looks like it was about as effective as Botox would be on her crow’s feet.

“I sure hope so if you’ve found yourself in the situation you think you have,” she comments, tapping a few buttons on the touchscreen. “$60.87.”

Goddamn, these are expensive. I insert my card into the slot harder than necessary. She doesn’t miss it, either. Or maybe the nerves in her sag is malfunctioning and she’s not actually giving me a smug little smile.

My transaction finishes up as she bags my items. And now the awkward moment where she waits for the receipt to spew from the machine while I think about stabbing her in the eye with the pen clipped to her work vest. When she hands the receipt over, I give her the sugariest smile I can manage.

“Thank you so much, ma’am.”

We’re both rolling our eyes when I walk away.

Seventeen

River

I STARE DOWN AT THE sticks, on the verge of tears.

Not pregnant.

Utter relief fills my body, so potent that I nearly faint. I scramble to hide the sticks in one of my sneakers.

Ryan’s in another mood. I’m sitting in the closet, snotting and crying as he slams around the house. I’m naked and even more bruised than before. He didn’t hit me this time, just grabbed me roughly until I cried out in pain. Only then, did he squeeze harder. Guess he didn’t have to hit this time when I complied like a good little girl and let him defile my body.

He doesn’t like that I don’t love sex with him anymore. It bothers him, cuts him deep. He wants back what we had in the beginning. When he could be as rough as he pleased, and I’d fucking beg for it. I wouldn’t flinch away every time his hand gets within an inch from my face. My face wouldn’t curl in disgust, my eyes wouldn’t glaze over as I disassociate. Every time I show my displeasure, he shows his in violent and angry ways.

A lot has changed since the night I met his parents five months ago. It feels like that was the beginning of our downfall. Why, though? What possibly could have such a dramatic and negative effect?

Meeting Mako.

Ryan was rough, and he was manipulative. But he didn’t attack me until Mako came around. What is it about his brother that he hates so much?

Is it because he’s better looking? Is it because Mako is the tall, dark and handsome type while Ryan looks like your typical frat boy? No, Ryan is too vain for that. His looks have been validated his entire life. Women have fallen at his feet, begging for his attention since girls stopped thinking boys had cooties.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Ryan is scared of Mako. But why? Anyone with goddamn sense is scared of spiders or snakes. The experts say they’re more scared of you than you are of them, right? Well those fuckers bite when they’re scared. And sometimes those bites end up being very deadly.

I stumble to my feet, wiping the snot from my nose and wiping it on one of Ryan’s button up shirts. My side of the closet is chaotic. Ryan got pissed when I wore a V-neck shirt to class the other day so now most of my clothes are ripped to shreds, still dangling from the hangers like haggard scarecrows. I walk over and finger one of my favorite dresses. A sexy emerald green dress that hugged my body like a child would their favorite toy. It reminds me of Mako’s eyes.

I wore this to the club many years ago, when Ryan was just a fantasy to me. Memories from that night come filtering back in. The sexy bartender. The Long Island ice teas. The lemon drops. That man….

I hadn’t forgotten about him, at least not completely. I thought about him consistently for a long while after that. But once Ryan officially entered my life, I tucked that little memory in the far back corner of my brain, leaving it to collect cobwebs and spiders for company.